


Cages

by PhenixFleur



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Biting, Blood Drinking, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Human Bill Cipher, M/M, Mild Emetophilia, Mind Control, Non-Con tag included to be safe although nothing worse than Strings itself, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Poor Dipper, Probably going overboard with the fucking tags but I don't want to hear any complaints, Strings Divergent, Violence, Why was poor Dipper already a tag, Worship?, alright that's enough, dark shit, psychiatric ward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 23:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11657340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: Canon Divergence from Strings. Following the incident with Mabel on the roof, Dipper is whisked away to the psychiatric hospital instead of being allowed to stay at her side. Unfortunately for him, he isn't any safer or more removed from Bill and the strings wound around his neck inside the ward than he is out of it - and his continued resistance isn't exactly appreciated.





	Cages

**Author's Note:**

> ...it's been awhile. :3
> 
> This is a divergence from the climax to Strings in which Dipper confronts Bill on the roof of the hospital after saying goodbye to Mabel. As such, some parts won't make as much sense if you haven't read that first, although it can be standalone. The tags are probably a little too intense for the actual content, but I'd rather be safe than sorry. Just as a note, though: thematically it isn't really much worse than the original story itself, so keep that in mind. That said, it is dark as fuck, but then again, it's me. Ya'll know how I do.

At least, at the absolute least amount of a silver lining that could be derived from the situation he was currently in (and there wasn't much), there was no fabled straitjacket of which to speak, leaving Dipper with full range of motion within the small space he'd been relegated to for time indefinite.

Granted, whenever his hands went cold, temperature dipping to a few degrees below the human norm, and his fingertips scrabbled along the marred flesh of his forearms briefly before sinking what remained of his fingernails into them (he'd chewed his nails off, time and time again, in an act of sheer defiance,  _ fuck _ that bastard pulling his strings, only to be rewarded with sinking his teeth into his own wrist because the bastard in question didn't take kindly to being denied; in the end he left his nails be given that those wounds were more shallow and healed a good deal more quickly than bite marks), the thought occurred to him that maybe being restrained wouldn't be too bad...but Dipper knew good and damn well that it would only accelerate the seed of - he didn't want to use that word, he  _ really _ didn't want to use that fucking word - madness blooming within his psyche. 

And it wasn't as if it would protect him from Bill, in the end.

_ Nothing _ could protect him from Bill, save compliance, and after what the demon had done to him (not just himself, but his sister, his family ) compliance was the very last thing Dipper intended to give him. Even if it meant being trapped in the seclusion room of the Healing Falls Psychiatric Hospital (Adolescent Ward A, for the "problem"  patients, the ones that needed constant supervision and were restricted to plastic spoons, no forks allowed) for nearly a week, alternately laying in a ball on his bed and carefully flipping through the pages of the few books he'd been allowed to bring with him and feigning mild disinterest to avoid Bill shredding them with glee, unhinged laughter bubbling up through his puppet's spasming throat, and watching hopelessly from afar as his body went into a frenzy of its own accord, pounding at the walls until his palms were bloody and kicking at the door hard enough to sprain his ankles while screaming obscenities in a voice hi-jacked from its true owner, gradually earning him more time in the room with the door locked with a single nurse lingering outside in a chair too ostentatious for its purpose, head bent over a clipboard and ears peeled for even the slightest shred of coherency in his raving. 

On the occasions when Bill left him alone, withdrawing the strings from his limbs and allowing him to rest both mentally and physically, it gave him the chance to explore his surroundings. The seclusion room wasn't terribly  designed. The bed consisted of a flat (and uncomfortable) mattress strapped to the metal bed frame; the sink and toilet in the corner were automatic, foregoing the need for handles of any sort. Of course there was no mirror. Aside from the bed, the sink, and the toilet, there wasn't much to speak of - grey walls, perfect cement with imperfections or pockmarks, likely to prevent the room's inhabitant from peeling wallpaper or chipping paint and consuming it. The results may have been  _ secure _ but that didn't make them any less dreary.

Perhaps the space would have been less intimidating if there was a window or skylight, no matter how large; even a mere pinprick of sunlight streaming through heavy duty security glass would have been acceptable, but, again, there was nothing of the sort, for some reason relating to patient safety or the other. 

At this point Dipper was completely convinced that the purpose of the grey walls lit only by artificial light from overhead was simply intended to break the room's inhabitant faster, to ingrain the fact that their dull reality would be the consequence of continuing to act out. It was a futile message for him - Bill had done a good job of ensuring that he learned pretty quickly what the consequences of disobedience were, and the seclusion room was far worse than his handful of nurses and in-patient psychiatrist could have imagined. 

There were no cameras trained on him, but Dipper really, really wished there were. 

It had been a quiet day, thus far; he didn't have a watch, nor a clock set within the wall (to prevent the room's inhabitant from eating the batteries or some other nonsense), so his sense of time was distorted. But the container of food delivered just a couple of hours previous consisted of 'breakfast food' - a single pancake, bacon, eggs, dry toast in serious need of butter, apple slices. The sight of the pancake immediately caused the homesickness simmering beneath the surface to flare up once more - it was nowhere near the delectable stacks of flapjacks he'd grown used to scarfing down at Greasy's. He forced himself to choke it down regardless; there were no snacks between meals, and the delivery of Styrofoam containers bearing food were spaced so far apart that he actually found himself getting hungry enough to await lunch and dinner with bated breath - partially because meals were also a change in the monotony. There really wasn't much to do __ outside of reading, sleeping, and being used as a plaything for an all-powerful being with no weaknesses, so mundane occurrences such as eating or having blood drawn or vitals taken were outright  _ exciting _ . 

He wondered what Mabel would have had to say to that _. _ "You've gotta get out more, Dippin' Dot. You're turning into a  _ real square. _ "

Dipper frowned - he'd heard the words with such clarity that it was almost as if his sister was there with __ him, and for a brief, crazed moment he found himself scanning the room for her presence. Thus far he hadn't been allowed any visitors due to his consistently bad behavior, and he missed Mabel with an intensity that physically hurt when he dwelled on it for too long.

His search revealed the only visitor he  _ had  _ been allowed to receive (mostly because the individual in question didn't ask for permission or pass through any  of the necessary channels needed to speak with one of the hospital's patients): full human guise, replete with those wretched golden eyes and that God forsaken leer trained on him, seated on Dipper's bed as if he owned  the place. The voice spilling from his lips was not the high-pitched, ethereal echo Dipper had grown used to nor the slightly less grating one inclusive with a human body (although the echo remained), but a voice he'd heard every day for the entirety of his life.

"It's okay, Dipstick!" The demon remarked, in a cheerful tone that turned Dipper's stomach. "I forgive you for  _ throwing me off the roof and almost killing me. _ You're still my favorite brother!"

Dipper grimaced, turning his back to his unwanted guest - mostly to shield the sudden wave of nausea instead of out of derision. The words brought it all home again; the last time he'd seen his sister in person was during that horrid few minutes atop the ledge, clothes soaked through in the driving rain, and Mabel screaming his name as he gripped her broken wrist, dragging her towards the edge...

He felt his teeth digging into his lower lip, nails pressed against his palms of his own accord. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he glanced over his shoulder, exuding as much hatred as he could muster in his glare. "Two out of ten," he replied, coldly. "'Dipstick'? Seriously?"

The comment earned him the satisfaction of seeing Bill's characteristic smirk waver for a few seconds, at least, albeit  _ only  _ a few seconds; the demon regained his composure almost immediately, shrugging. "Eh, everyone's a critic these days."

His gaze met Dipper's, and before he could even acknowledge it the teenager found himself struggling to breathe; the invisible cord wrapped around his neck, constricting so tightly that even calling for help became an insurmountable task. To add to his discomfort he felt his body rising into the air, as if he were weightless, flailing helplessly (he couldn't suppress the panic that rose within him,  _ every single time)  _ while being levitated from where he stood near the locked door and deposited on Bill's lap; his treacherous legs straddling the demon's while his equally treacherous hands rested on Bill's shoulders, leaving him in a compromising position with his crotch pressed up against that of the last person he wanted to have any kind of physical contact with. He tried to keep his head down, staring at the always immaculate suit jacket he was inadvertently ruffling, but his chin tilted upwards on command, forcing him to make eye contact with the bane of his existence, grinning at his handiwork without a hint of humility. "Even those that aren't exactly in a position to be." 

Chagrin aside, Dipper gazed into the pair of vivid golden eyes surveying his face desperately, gasping, tears welling up in his eyes. His head spun in the most unpleasant manner, lungs burning in his chest as the seconds drifted by. It wasn't the first time he'd been choked into silence, but it was impossible to get used to something like that, no matter how many times he was subjected to it. By the time the noose loosened his vision had gone blurry and the previously unshed tears were coursing down his cheeks; he collapsed against Bill's chest, alternately coughing and heaving ragged breaths that shook his entire body. Strong arms wrapped around him as the demon embraced him; his touch was surprisingly gentle in comparison to the brutality he'd just shown himself capable of. Even still Dipper struggled briefly in his grip before ceasing to resist any longer for the moment, casting his gaze downward. 

"Kid, why do you make me do this?" Bill chided, as if speaking to a disobedient child. "I mean, I'd do it anyway because you make the greatest noises when you're in pain, but you just make it  _ so _ easy."

Speaking was nearly agonizing, but, shuddering at the motion, Dipper lifted his head enough to rasp, rather bitterly, "Why are you keeping me in here?"

"For easy access? Because it's hilarious watching your stupid meatbag brain crack under the pressure of a few days of isolation? Boredom?" Bill shrugged. "Take your pick."

Dipper shuddered once more, this time out of absolute disgust. He also ignored the offer, mentally inserting one of his own into the list: because Bill was an unmitigated asshole. He briefly considered attempting to break the demon's iron grip on him yet again before conceding to the notion's futility; Bill would let go when he felt like letting go, and there was little point to being punished again for resisting, if it simply meant listening to the demon ramble on in the possessive (and totally unhinged; if anyone deserved to be locked up in a psych ward it was  _ Bill,  _ not him) with disinterest then Dipper could handle that, awkward position aside.

What he wasn't expecting was for the demon to (with no warning whatsoever save for that leer) tilt his head forward, lips parting to reveal rows of very inhuman teeth - and sinking those teeth into the side of his neck, actually breaking the skin; the short scream rising up through his throat seemed to peter out before reaching its destination, as did the accompanying horrified gasp in response to the sensation of a tongue lapping at the wound left behind. He didn't need to  _ see  _ the damage to understand that he was  _ bleeding,  _ nor the fact that Bill appeared to be treating his blood like ambrosia. Just the thought (as well as this new occurrence - the demon was handsy, as always, that never changed, but he'd never  _ bitten  _ Dipper, claw wounds and strangulation notwithstanding) of that tongue sliding along his skin, savoring the taste of his life essence...Dipper recoiled in disgust yet again, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think of anything else than his current situation. He struggled to think of his sister, his family,  _ home _ , and he did his best to avert his gaze as his eyelids slid open without his permission, forcing him to take in the sight of the demon smirking at him with his lips smeared with gore. 

"What's wrong, Pine Tree? Want a taste?" Before he could protest those lips were on his, releasing a thin stream of blood into his mouth. The bitter tang of his own vital fluid across spread over his tongue; Dipper's eyes widened and he wrenched away, gagging. This time he did manage to free himself (or Bill let him), falling to the tiles below heavily and doubling over while retching; the taste of himself lingered, bile rising up in his throat. He crawled on his hands and knees to the toilet, heaving up everything he'd eaten that morning (memory-inducing pancake inclusive). From behind him he heard the swell of crazed laughter that no one outside of the seclusion room could hear, the sound of heels clicking against the floor as they approached. A hand buried itself in his hair, ruffling it fondly. 

"You wanna know why I'm keeping you in here, kid?" Dipper moaned miserably, resting his head against the toilet seat; his head was pounding, and Bill's voice did nothing to ease the pain. "Because you had the  _ nerve _ to think you were free of me. That just because you're outside of that dump that I can't get to you. It really is cute how stupid  you are."

"Shut  _ up _ ," Dipper hissed, wrenching free (he could feel a clump of hair being torn out in the process, but he had more than enough to spare) and making a point of spitting a glob of saliva onto the demon's shoes before rising to his feet and racing over to the door. It was locked, of course, but perhaps if he made enough noise-

He'd made no more than a few steps before the crook of Bill's cane looped around his neck, halting his progress and dragging him back towards the bed. It  _ hurt _ , against an already bruised throat from earlier bearing a rather grisly bite wound, but not nearly as much being slammed against the hard mattress on his back; he could tell he'd finally managed to piss the demon off as Bill settled atop him, irises narrowing into slits against golden scleras and human guise wavering for a second - revealing something monstrous, jagged teeth and shifting tendrils of shadow. A tapered claw tapped at his bite wound. "What did I just tell you, Pine Tree?" 

Dipper hissed, dimly acknowledging the possibility of the claw slitting his throat altogether, but kept his eyes locked on the demon's, feigning courage he most certainly didn't feel. "You can't just pluck me out of a locked cell. Someone's gonna notice."

The claw's tip slipped beneath the skin, drawing a pained yelp from the teenager. Bill sighed as if he were dealing with a child, lifting the claw to his lips; a jet black, forked tongue flickered over the droplets of blood clinging to it. "Oh, kid. I don't care." He leaned forward, running that unnerving tongue over the now actively bleeding bite wound, letting out a sound of pleasure that only further unnerved the teenager beneath him. "I'm not worried about anyone noticing anything. I'm having fun watching you suffer, but I could snatch you out of here and take you home anytime I wanted. Because  _ you're mine. _ "

Dipper's stomach clenched in actual fear for the first time that day; the dimensions of the demon's grin were much too wide for a normal human face, and the voice associated with his human guise rapidly warped into something far more menacing as he spoke. This was Bill when he was  _ angry,  _ when the mischief and jocundity were shed to reveal the monster lurking beneath. "You're mine. Until I decide to let you die, or get bored and kill you myself. Every  _ single  _ part of you is  _ mine. _ " The statement was punctuated with both another unwanted kiss, this time a great deal more passionate  than the prior one, with a free hand gripping his hair tightly enough to ache, holding him down while  _ that tongue  _ forced itself into his mouth. All attempts to fight back were halted by another set of hands seizing his arms, effectively pinning him against the mattress beneath him while yet  _ another  _ hand roved a little further down than Dipper was comfortable with - not that he was comfortable with  _ any  _ of it, especially how little sense the number of hands restraining him made. He could count at least four with the small amount of his consciousness not completely devoted to struggling futilely (moreso out of panic than defiance at this point), and that was  _ way  _ too many fucking hands for a normal human body, but at some point the body weighing him down had shifted into something reminiscent of a nightmare. By the time he was allowed to breathe he was both light-headed  _ and  _ livid, continuing to strain at the demon's grip. He opened his mouth to  _ scream,  _ only to find the tip of a claw poised at his throat once again. "Keep it up, and I'll slice you open, kid. Let you choke on your own blood for awhile just for kicks before fixing you up. How about it?"

Dipper settled down immediately. He could tell that the threat was anything but  idle. That knowledge still didn't stop him from moaning in revulsion when the hand on his groin roughly clutched at a very sensitive part of himself, the word spilling from his lips before he could bite it back. "No."

The hand  _ squeezed  _ this time, causing him to see stars. " _ All  _ of you, Pine Tree." Bill licked his lips, with a hungry glint in his eye. "Whenever I want."

The implication sent a chill running throughout Dipper; it brought back memories of lying in the leaves in a dark wood, those eyes burning holes into him: " _ Thought about it, decided to wait a few years. _ " Defiance-driven courage did battle with justified fear. " _ Everything you have to offer. _ " 

As if reading his mind (hell, he probably was) the demon patted his cheek, smirk softening into a poor facsimile of concern. "Chill out! I'm a monster of my word. I'm not going to touch you yet. Not until I can hear you  _ willingly _ scream my name until your voice gives out." 

The relief only lasted for a few seconds before shifting into a different kind of horror at the words that followed. "Instead, you're going to put on a puppet show!" 

Dipper yelped, finding himself being shoved onto the floor for the second time that day, landing on his tailbone and sliding on his back into the wall opposite the bed. It was one additional hurt amongst a constantly growing list of aches and pains and he barely registered it; his body twisted in a sickening manner as if it were no longer his own but truly the empty husk of a marionette, leaving him on his knees with his head tilted to get a good look at his master: glowing eyes, serpentine tongue lolling out of his mouth over jagged asymmetrical teeth that glistened in the dull overhead light; pitch-colored limbs emerging from his sides at odd angles that made Dipper want to vomit again, gripping the obsidian cane he'd used to snag his prey earlier in the only two hands that resembled those of a human being. This time the crook rapped lightly against his skull as Bill spoke once more, in an unholy hiss he'd never heard before. "Now  _ dance." _

His arms and legs refused to cooperate, leaden beneath him, and the sick mockery of a smile his lips had curved upwards into felt for all the world like a mask epoxied to his face; the sense of deja vu was nearly overwhelming, carrying Dipper back to that night in the attic - grinning like a maniac and speaking words that weren't his own, his sister's scream as his hand gripped her wrist and snapped the bone with as little effort as a twig. He could only watch from the veritable prison cell that was his mind, his body creeping along the floor - crawling, he was fucking  _ crawling  _ for that asshole - on his hands and knees; the strings were pulled much too taut for him to struggle against them, and save for his last night at the Mystery Shack for an indeterminate time Dipper had never felt more like a puppet than he did now. 

He paused before his so-called master, staring adoringly up at the demon before ducking his head reverently, leaning forward to touch his forehead to the ground like a devotee paying obeisance to their god. At least he still retained control of his mental faculties, and while outwardly he presented the perfect image of obedience the thought that he would  _ never  _ do so willingly ran throughout his head incessantly; if Bill wanted a fucking puppet he'd have to do all the work himself.

Still, it was impossible not to feel a pang of heartache as he lifted his head, lips parting and words issuing from them in a sickeningly deferential tone. "I'm  _ so  _ sorry for being such a disobedient pet, Master Cipher! I'm  _ so  _ grateful you're so patient and forgiving even though I don't deserve it!"

Inwardly: "I hate you", over and over, forming a mantra that left him nauseous despite there being nothing left in his stomach to part with. 

He seethed, reluctant gaze fixed on the sight of Bill feigning bashfulness in response. "Oh  _ gee _ , Pine Tree, I didn't know you felt that way! You're gonna make me blush." Underneath his own power Dipper's body would have recoiled at the demon's touch as he reached down to ruffle his hair affectionately; instead he leaned into it, nearly purring at the contact. 

His voice was  _ painfully _ needy, almost cloying when he spoke once more. "Please teach me how to be a better pet! I'm too stupid to figure it out on my own." The hand in his hair gripped a handful, forcefully tilting his head backwards to expose the bite mark on his neck - under the physical mistreatment it had begun to bleed again, the thin trickle of liquid staining the collar of his shirt. Even with the strings in effect Dipper couldn't suppress the shudder than rippled through his body upon seeing the lascivious,  _ ravenous _ expression on the demon's face, that forked tongue lolling out to run over his lips - he might as well have been salivating.

"Don't worry, kid. I'll beat that dumb meatbag resistance out of you one way or the other."

He'd been hoping, praying to any deity (or less reprehensible devil) that might still be listening that this was it; Bill had said his piece, had his fun playing with his toy, and would now piss off to wherever he was when he wasn't making Dipper's life miserable. 

Unfortunately the only otherworldly force in the area was the one leering down at him... and holding the end of his cane up to his lips, grinning maliciously. "Open wide."

This time he  _ did _ struggle to the best of his abilities, straining against the compulsion to open his mouth, clenching his teeth hard enough to make his jaw hurt; it was futile gesture, as usual - before he could protest any further the rod was in his mouth, heavy upon his tongue, tasting of something unidentifiable yet repulsive, and scraping at the back of his throat, immediately setting off his gag reflex. Tears welled up in his eyes; the pain and discomfort briefly outweighed his contempt. 

The demon's voice forced its way into his head, boring into his skull unbidden. "Did you just happen to forget that I can hear every pathetic thought that enters your head?" Two of the tendrils curling around his body pressed against either side of Dipper's face, caressing his cheeks. "And do you really think you can hold out forever?"

It hurt,  _ everything _ hurt, tears streamed down his face and along his neck, causing the bite wound to sting; only his mind remained independent - and yet, his response rang out loud and clear, shoving its way through everything else to counter Bill's question with characteristic defiance. "Yes.  _ Fuck you _ ."

He had the satisfaction of seeing the bastard's grin waver, his eyes narrowing in frustration. 

It almost made up for what followed: the sensation of the cane pushing halfway down his throat until he wasn't merely gagging but choking, willing his hands to move to clutch his throat in a state of utter panic, trembling uncontrollably while coughing around the foreign object. When he found his airway clear perhaps a minute or so later, the end of the cane being withdrawn to allow him to breathe, Dipper doubled over, wheezing and vomiting once more - pure stomach acid, this time. The strings withdrew and he collapsed into the puddle of his own sick, miserable and wishing that it had been himself that was tossed off the roof instead. 

Those tendrils, caressing his face, hands running through his hair, and the sound of the spectre of his nightmares speaking to him. "Oh, Pine Tree. If only you could see yourself now."

Dipper was glad he couldn't. 

Talking hurt, and his voice was raspy and faint. "Thank you for punishing me for being a disrespectful brat, Master Cipher."

Inwardly, with as much ire as he could muster in his current state: "This is the only way you'll ever get that shit out of me."

Bill paused in his ministrations; he heard the demon shuffling above where he lay. "You know, I think you could use a few more days in here, kid." Dipper's head tilted upwards; his vision was blurry with exertion, tears, and exhaustion. He was so very, very tired. "Until you've learned to appreciate my  _ generosity _ ." 

"...I don't want this," Dipper managed, weakly. 

"Give it time." The words, and the crazed laughter that followed echoed, long after the presence looming over him had vanished for the time being, leaving the teenager lying where he'd fallen, lacking the strength to rise. The silence was both welcome and overwhelming, holding the promise of precious solitude (at least from the other only individual that he regularly interacted with now) and the threat of being broken by the sound of a voice that still reverberated throughout his head.

" _ Give it time _ ."

His fists clenched, and he directed all of his remaining energy to forcing himself upwards, rising incrementally and pulling himself up onto his bed; it was hard and uncomfortable, but definitely preferable to remaining in a pool of vomit on the floor. Both his sheets and himself were disgusting and in need of washing, but it would have to wait. 

As his heavy eyelids slipped closed, Dipper found himself wondering just how long he  _ could _ hold out, how long it would be before loneliness and desperation drove him to rattle the bars of his cage he was trapped in - and whether it was actually preferable to whatever awaited him outside of it.    
  



End file.
